Remembering a Dream

I still remember the first time I saw Emily.

I was in grad school, walking from my almost non-existent office to my car. It was a typical early Spring day in North Carolina -- still a touch chilly, but sunny enough to remind you that Winter had breathed its last. Cutting across the quad, I saw the inevitable Ultimate Frisbee game: guys with their shirts off, chasing the frisbee here and there, girls watching the guys and sunning themselves. I was single, 26, and healthy enough, so of course I took my time looking over the women.

There's something about that first sunny day in Spring on a college campus. Everyone's been bundled up in coats and sweaters for so long that they can't wait to shuck all those layers and refresh themselves; it's an almost palpable reminder that better days are ahead. And the scenery? Oh my... Just one beautiful woman after another.

But then, there was Emily. I didn't know her name at the time. All I knew about her was that she existed, and I was silently grateful for that gift. She sat on the grass, wearing some sleeveless sorority t-shirt and shorts. Long, curly, light brown hair. The sort of round face that distinguishes Southern girls from everyone else. Big, big eyes behind glasses. Yeah, I was hooked.

So, what do you do when the woman you've dreamed of meeting your whole life is sitting 50 yards away from you? Well, if you're me, you stand there for about 15 minutes, pretending to watch the game, but really trying to work up the courage to go talk to her. What if she was surrounded by her sorority sisters, and didn't want to be bothered? What if she was watching her boyfriend play? Can you cope with rejection?

I couldn't. So, I turned away, and walked the rest of way to my car, cursing myself every step. Five times I nearly turned around, five times I didn't, and five times I muttered under my breath how chickenshit I was. I needed... I needed to clear my head, get away for a bit, and deal. Lucky for me, the apartment was a 10-minute drive away, and there was a fantastic bottle of Bushmills 21-year-old single malt I'd gotten for being in a fraternity brother's wedding the previous month waiting for me.

When I got home, there was a message on the machine. Seems that the frat had a mixer that night, and would I come? "Okay," I thought, "I'll save the Bushmills for later." Mixers at the house were always fun, even if I was the oldest one there by half a decade. Apparently, I leant an air of respectability to the proceedings. Hmmmmmm. So, I showered, threw on some jeans and a shirt that made me look more like a professional than a grad student, and headed over to help set up. We were a small house, but they told me that a sorority was on its way. I knew what this meant -- a long night of tending bar for me. Eh, no big deal. I didn't have other plans for a Friday night -- I sure wasn't going back to the apartment to work on the dissertation!

The venerable dean and I cleaned the place up a bit for a couple hours; I think the brothers didn't quite yet have the idea that a cleaner house was more acceptable to the female eye. We'd work on 'em; after all, that's a significant part of what fraternity life is about! Eventually, we heard cars start to pull up, and knew that the ladies were arriving. One last scan for obvious porn -- amazingly, the coast was clear -- and I went to the door.

And there she was. Emily. She'd done her hair a bit differently for the mixer, shed the glasses, and put on a casual but semi-dressy blouse and jeans. If anything, she looked more radiant than before. I know I was stammering -- what a great role model I was, huh? An eternity later, I finally remembered my manners, and invited them in. Predictably, many of the sisters moved towards the bar. Emily didn't, however. She seemed ... I don't know ... at ease near me? I took her arm and led her to the lounge, where we struck up a conversation.

Turns out we had pretty similar stories -- she had aged out of the house upon graduation the previous year, but had started business school here and stayed involved as a house advisor. Wait... She was a grad student? So, she and I were more or less contemporaries? Obviously, she was as bright as she was beautiful; the business school here didn't take any dummies. And, somehow... She was as interested in talking with me as I was with her. Was there a spark here? Wasn't it only a couple hours ago when I didn't have the courage to even talk to her? And here I was, asking if she wanted to go for a walk to get away from all the noise? Was this *me*?

Luckily, it was. Even more luckily, she *did* want to get away from the noise. We snuck out the back door of the house, strolling down to the pond the house overlooked. She shivered a bit, and I took my jacket off and draped it around her shoulders. She took my hand, and we walked like teenagers. Every so often, she'd look into my eyes, and I could see the moonlight reflecting there. Here I was, 26 years old, and acting like a teenager.

We must have walked and talked half the night away. We shared dreams and hopes. We found a big flat rock on the far side of the pond, and she snuggled against me. I whispered into her ear: "Emily, please tell me I'm not dreaming. I don't know that I could bear it if I was." She turned to me, looked deeply into my eyes, and wordlessly moved her lips to mine. Seconds stretched into minutes, and minutes seemed like hours. I'd kissed girls before, sure. But this was different. There was something behind it; not passion, not horniness. I was falling in love with her. I could see a future; hopes and dreams fulfilled.

"Ben, sweetheart, I'm a bit chilly." With that, she took me by the hand and led me back to my car. We drove to my apartment, and I said a silent prayer that I'd cleaned up my place the night before. I know: frat boys and sorority girls are supposed to just fuck. Animalistic, frenzied, energetic. I'd fucked my share of sorority girls; I knew the score.

But that's not what happened. Instead, for the first time in my life, I made love. We kissed tenderly and passionately. We slowly undressed each other, lingering over every square inch of skin. I learned about her body, where she was sensitive and where she was ticklish. She learned about mine, where she could touch me that would make me moan with delight. I learned what "foreplay" means; we must have caressed and kissed and stroked each other for 2 hours before she climbed on top and lowered herself onto me. And it was electric. Magical. Looking into her eyes as she slowly moved up and down. I wanted the moment to last forever. *I* wanted to last forever! I wanted her to feel as much pleasure as I did. But when I called out that I was close to the edge, she started rolling her hips, urging me closer and closer.

When I exploded inside her, I saw her eyes flash with surprise and passion, then roll back in her head as she exploded as well. I pulled her down to me, enveloping her in my arms. And it was then that I realized that *this* was the moment I wanted to last forever. This sharing of joy was ... perfect.

She fell asleep next to me, her head on my shoulder. I just looked at her, watching her sleep all night. When her eyes flickered, I started singing to her, wanting her to know how I felt. I sang an old a cappella song by The Persuasions called "My Home". It ends: "But then there's your face, my dear. I know I'll never be walking alone. The love in your eyes makes it clear, telling my softly: This is my home." She wept with joy, which caused me to shed a tear or thirty. And I knew -- this was a woman I'd dreamed of all my life. And I was so lucky that I'd had that dream come true.